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Commission Sample--Erotic, OC

Another excerpt from a commission done for R-Tillirey. This excerpt is roughly 2,000 words, the piece is 5k. I'm particularly proud of some of the dialogue in this one. 

While they’d been sitting inside, a cool breeze had sprung up, and Missy shaded her eyes against the bright summer sun, peering out into the neighborhood where she could see the tops of trees waving in the breeze. “Maybe it won’t be such a hot one, after all.” Musing, she joined Beth on the porch swing, sitting comfortably close to the other woman so that their arms just barely touched. Both women settled onto the swing, relaxing into the cushions Rob had thoughtfully purchased to put on it and sipping their tea as it cooled. They fell back into talk, and the conversation gradually shifted from their families to the subjects they so rarely got to talk about, because they so rarely had a day to themselves. “Did you hear about Silvia?” Beth asked, hiding her mouth behind a hand as if someone might overhear her gossip. “Apparently she found some poor sucker to tie the knot with her.” Missy nodded, leaning closer to Beth as they both took on a conspiratorial tone. “I know! Supposedly he’s only in his twenties, and mm! He’s supposed to be a piece.” The women giggled, and Missy quickly sat back, folding her hands over the slight curve of her stomach. After having a child, she’d never totally gotten her figure back, but Rob didn’t mind the extra bit of weight, and more importantly, she didn’t mind it. She’d grown beyond caring about her figure, by now. She wasn’t twenty any more, after all, and if she’d wanted to, she could get a hot piece of ass still. “It’s just a shame she can’t grow up and find someone her own age.” Shaking her head, she sipped her tea again, sending a twinkle-eyed glance at Beth. Beth flushed, but quickly spoke up, chiding Missy. “Oh, hush! You know Tim and I don’t just look for younger men. We’ve had plenty of men our own age.” She sounded a tiny bit affronted, but Missy knew her friend enough to tell when she was joking. “You know I’m teasing,” Missy patted her friend’s thigh lightly, and the women shared a laugh. Besides, Missy really had no room to talk. She and Rob hadn’t exactly always been scrupulous about the age of their partners, either. They kept chatting, about nothing in particular, as the world seemed to pass lazily by in front of them. Kids from the neighboring houses took to the streets to play, before apparently retiring to find cooler fun. Several houses down, some kids had set up a sprinkler and were taking turns running through it, shrieking with laughter. Missy and Beth watched them quietly for a moment, until Missy noticed a lone figure walking down the sidewalk toward them. Turning her attention to the figure, Missy saw that it was Kea, their next-door-neighbor’s oldest daughter. She was walking slowly, with her head down, and as she watched, Missy saw the girl swipe at her cheeks, as though wiping away tears. Nudging Beth with her elbow, Missy nodded toward the girl, and both women watched as she walked past, apparently not realizing that she had an audience. As she passed them, it became obvious that she was, indeed, crying. Her shoulders shook, and she didn’t lift her head as she slowly began the long trek from the sidewalk across the lawn to her front door. Missy called out just as she reached her front porch. “Kea!” The girl jumped, startled by Missy’s sudden call. Instantly, her body-language changed; she lifted her shoulders, straightening up and lifting a hand to surreptitiously wipe at her cheeks again. When she turned, a tremulous smile wavered on her face, and she lifted her hand in a little wave. “Hi, Mrs. Hall.” She called. Missy could hear her voice trembling, like the smile she was barely keeping on her lips. “Is everything okay, sweetie?” Kea was a sweet girl, and Missy hated to see her looking so upset. Almost as though Missy’s words had drawn her over, Kea left her front porch and crossed the patch of lawn that separated the two houses from each other. She walked slowly, still swiping away at her tears and trying to look like she hadn’t just been crying. Missy recognized the body language--had done the same when, for whatever reason, she’d cried in public. Somehow crying in public always just made her feel worse, like everyone who saw her was judging her for not being able to control her emotions. As the girl approached, Missy felt Beth shift slightly beside her, and the other woman began tapping the side of her mug, her nails clicking against the glass. Kea stopped as she got to the single step up to the porch. “I’m fine.” The lie wasn’t very convincing, but Missy could see that Kea was doing her best to keep it together. “Hi,” She didn’t seem to know what to do other than repeat her greeting. Seeing the girl’s eyes flick from her to Beth, Missy smiled. “Hi, Kea. This is my friend Beth. Beth, Kea.” Beth waved, greeting the girl kindly, and Kea wiggled her fingers back at the older woman. She tried for another smile, but her lips wobbled, and Missy saw a tear escape to slide down her cheek. She wouldn’t have pointed this out to the girl even if she’d asked, but her mascara had been smudged as well. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy; it looked like she’d been crying for a while, and probably pretty hard. “Are you sure you’re okay, Kea?” Gently, Missy prompted the girl again. She watched as a slew of emotions crossed Kea’s face. She went from struggling to form a smile, to biting her bottom lip as it trembled, lifting her eyes in a familiar gesture that Missy knew meant she was trying not to break into tears again. “Why don’t you come tell us about it?” Missy patted the portion of porch swing, and Beth obligingly scooted over, leaving enough room for the girl to fit into. That seemed to be the last straw. Kea’s face crumpled, and she let out a choked little sob, dropping her face into her hands. Leaping to her feet, Missy went to the girl, throwing her arm around Kea’s shoulders and pulling her into a tight embrace. Kea leaned into the contact, sobbing and sniffling as Missy led her across the porch and into the house. This was more urgent than Missy had thought. Whispering comforting things to the girl, Missy heard Beth following them as she led Kea into the house. The girl was totally compliant, letting Missy guide her to the couch and push her down until she sat. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, silently now as she began trying to wipe them away, but they flowed faster than she could wipe. “Oh, sweetie,” crooning, Missy sat on the couch with the girl, and she was pleasantly surprised when Kea threw herself into her arms, her sobs renewing their vigor. She’d known Kea for many years--since her family had moved in just next door when the girl was no older than ten. She’d even come over to entertain the grandkid a few times when Missy had needed an extra pair of hands. It hurt Missy to see the girl so clearly upset. “Beth,” sending a glance at her friend, who hovered nearby, Missy jerked her chin toward the kitchen. “Be a dear and get her some ice water?” Kea sniffled loudly, pulling away from Missy long enough to wipe her nose. “And some tissue?” Beth leaped into action, leaving Missy on the couch with the girl for a moment before she returned with a box of tissues and a glass of ice water. She took her place on the opposite side of the girl, and as she did, Kea pulled away from Missy. The girl reached for the box of tissues and immediately blew her nose, before reaching for another and dabbing at her eyes. Her tears hadn’t slowed, but she seemed to have calmed a little. Still making her soothing noises, Missy rubbed the girl’s back. Her long hair, normally silky and shining, was mussed, and Missy graduated from rubbing her back to running her fingers through her hair softly as the girl slowly began to calm. It didn’t take much to get the snags out--her hair was stick-straight and she obviously took a lot of care of it. It slipped through Missy’s fingers without a snag in no time, settling down as she worked her fingers through it. “Why not tell us about it?” She asked, after Kea sniffled and took a deep, shuddering breath. There was a brief pause while Beth offered the water to the girl, and Kea sipped it. Then she took another deep breath, reached for a tissue, and began to talk. Gradually, in between sobs and sniffles, Missy and Beth dragged the story out of the girl. She couldn’t seem to get more than a few words out at a time, struggling to tell the whole, painful ordeal. It seemed, as Missy pieced together from the girl’s rambling, that she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. More specifically, he’d broken up with her, because they were attending two different colleges in the fall. “He--he--he didn’t even want to try long distance.” Kea finally managed to wail, and she broke into fresh sobs. “I loved him!” Missy let out a little sigh, still stroking the girl’s hair gently while she sat between her and Beth. Ah, to be young and in love for the first time. Feeling like the world would end because this one particular boy didn’t want to go the distance. She may be a grandma, but she still remembered what it felt like to be rejected by the person you’d convinced yourself was the one for you. Still, she couldn’t help being a little amused as the girl sobbed, going on about how perfect this boy had been, and how they’d been meant for each other, and he had to realize how wrong he was and take her  back. She and Beth exchanged a glance over the top of the girl’s head as she blew her nose again. Both women smiled, but Beth quickly hid her smile behind her hand, clearing her throat and forcing her expression back down into a serious one as the girl between them suddenly shifted from broken-hearted to angry. “He made a big mistake.” Missy reached for the girl’s hand, and on Kea’s other side, she could see Beth gently rubbing her shoulder. Giving the girl’s hand a comforting squeeze, Missy agreed with her. “Of course he did. He was lucky to have you, and he’ll be lucky to find anyone like you at that other school.” Seeming to appreciate her words, Kea’s lips parted in the first genuine smile Missy had seen on her face since she’d first spotted the girl walking down the sidewalk toward them. She hiccuped softly, a few tears still working their way down her cheeks, but a quick swipe of a damp tissue took them away, and her smile broadened. A little silence fell, and Missy let Kea hold onto her hand for as long as she needed it while Beth rubbed her back in long, slow movements. Finally, the girl spoke up again. “He’ll be sorry.” This time, Beth spoke up before Missy could agree with the girl again. “That’s right, dear. A beautiful girl like you, you’ll find someone new at school in no time.” Missy saw Kea’s cheeks flush pink, and she glanced shyly up at Beth, her lips curling into a smile. “You think so?” Waving away the girl’s doubts, Beth charged on. She’d always had a way with words, and she’d never been afraid to speak her mind. “Of course! You’ll have guys lining up to take you out, and he’ll regret letting you go once he sees how happy you can be without him. But it’ll be too late, and you’ll get to tell him he should have tied you down when he had the chance, because now you’re a free woman and you mean to have fun in college!”

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Writing Sample--Fantasy, OC

Third death scene prompt from lazy-writing-prompts on Tumblr! An unnecessary and anti-climatic death. Roughly 1,200 words.

Sunshine fell on him in random, fleeting beams as light broke through the heavy forest canopy. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin every time one of the beams broke through to touch him, and each time he couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips at the sensation. He’d been in this wood for several days, the trees packed so tightly together that, for the better part of a week, he hadn’t felt the touch of the sun. These brief, occasional glimpses of sunlight on his face meant that he was finally coming to the end of the wood. His footsteps fell nearly silently on a carpet of leaves as he walked; no one had traveled this road in many days. He was, perhaps, the first to walk this calm forest path in many years. The forest around him was alive with energy. Everything, from the trees on either side of him, to the squirrels in their boughs, to the insects in the dirt, glimmered faintly with life and energy, and Craft could sense every single one of them. He hadn’t felt a place so full of life in many years--many of the woods were being settled and harvested for their wood, the trees chopped down and the game hunted until no more of the wild remained. It really was a shame, to lose such energy forever. So far, he had passed through the wood unhindered, and his presence there seemed neither unwelcome, nor, for that matter, noticed. As he walked, Craft listened to the silence of the wood, though no wood was ever truly silent. This forest was no exception. A steady rustling in the canopy overhead spoke of a breeze rustling through the leaves, and birds called to one another from the boughs, telling tales only they understood. He heard the constant, steady hum of insects buzzing--and felt their buzzing too, as they hovered near his face occasionally--and the nearly silent whisper of woodland creatures as they passed through the foliage on either side of him. They paid him no mind, save to note his presence and bound away if he came too near. As he walked, Craft could feel the sunlight beginning to shine on him more regularly. He no longer passed between errant sunbeams that touched him once in a long while, instead walking through what seemed like a steady stream of light, filtering down on him through thinning foliage. The soft touch of the sun on his skin warmed him, easing the chill that had settled into his bones from the long nights spent on the cold, hard ground beneath the trees. He walked for only another hour or so before the trees had petered out entirely, leaving him isolated and alone as the sun began to beat down on him from where it rode high. Midday came and went as he continued to walk, and the sun began to make its slow journey down from the highest reaches of its trek across the sky. His stomach began to growl periodically, but he ignored it in favor of continuing his trek. The world had flattened around him now that he’d left the trees behind, and he could no longer feel much life around him at all. Aside from the flurry of energy beneath his feet--the rabbits, voles, and other ground dwellers who seemed totally content to let him pass above them, he felt nothing. He allowed his thoughts to wander as he walked, drinking in the feel of the sun on his skin for as long as he was able. Before too long, the soft, churning babble of running water filtered to him on the air. He cocked his head to the side, and found that, no more than a few hundred feet away, a tiny canyon had opened up in the land where a river flowed. A burst of energy came to him from the direction of the water; birds, and fish, and frogs, all thriving in the river and on its banks, undisturbed by the touch of any human interference. He turned his feet toward the water, knowing now that he had found a place to rest. The soft murmur of the river became louder as he approached, accompanied by a chorus of frogs and insects, croaking and buzzing together amid the shady, cool glade. Ae he approached, he found that several willows also grew on the banks of the stream, trailing their fronds into the water as they stirred in a light breeze. Birds took to the air as he approached, and the choir of frogs and crickets fell still as he passed. The peaceful glade fell totally silent around him, but he paid the change no mind, making his way to a boulder that rested just below one of the willows. Dropping his pack to the ground beside the rock, he sat, pulling his boots and his thick, woolen socks off with methodical movements. As he sat, he heard the activity around him begin again, until the animals sang again as though he’d never disturbed them. He sat for a long moment, trailing his feet in the cool current of the stream and enjoying the stillness. The water ran quickly, chuckling and babbling over rocks as it went, and he could sense enough energy and life here that he was nearly amazed. It was as though no human hand had ever touched this place, leaving it totally unspoiled. Before too long, he had fallen into a doze, propped against the willow’s trunk, totally at ease. The birds and frogs sang around him, and once or twice an inquisitive fish approached to nibble the skin of his toes, before he shifted and frightened them away. The riverbank had grown accustomed to his quiet presence, and as he dozed, the life around him went on about its day. The sudden, sharp crack of a stick breaking underfoot brought him roaring into wakefulness. He’d fallen asleep, and his circle of consciousness had shrunk down to no more than the few feet around him that any idiot human could have felt. Instantly awake, he forgot where he was as he leaped to his feet. His toes had gone numb in the cold current, and as he stood, he went right into the water. Cursing, he spun, trying to find the source of the sound that had woken him, and he lost his footing on a loose rock beneath his feet. The rock slipped from underneath him, and with a cry and a splash, he fell backward into the river, fully submerged before he could catch his breath. A sharp, sick thud sounded in his ears as he fell, and he felt pain, lancing red-hot through his mind. The pain lasted only a moment before the red, hot heat behind his eyes faded into blackness. The sun, shedding the last of its warm rays on the earth, slowly sank beneath the horizon to rest for the night. As shadows lengthened, and the riverbank was cast into darkness, the choir of frogs and crickets sang louder, emboldened by the fall of evening. The birds had gone to roost, leaving the stream to the night creatures. On the bank of the river, a willow trailed its tendrils in the current, undisturbed by neither the pack that rested at its roots on the bank, nor the man caught in the roots that trailed into the water as well, drinking its life in deep. The man had fallen, and he had not gotten up again, and so he lay, face-down in the deep stream, unable to follow the current as it did its best to wash him away.

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Commission Sample -- 5k, erotic, OC

Here's another excerpt from a commission I wrote for R-Tillirey. Roughly 1,600, the entire piece was a 5k piece.

“You’re beautiful,” He whispered, and he pulled the girl into his arms again, kissing her deeply while he reached for her breasts with one hand. Her skin was soft and warm under his touch, and she shuddered as he massaged her breast softly, finding the nipple with his thumb. The little nub was hard, and he flicked it experimentally, earning a gasp and a little moan from the girl as he did. “You should get down on your knees.” His words were muffled against her lips, but she seemed to hear him fine. Her hands went immediately to the button on his jeans, and she worked it open, yanking the zipper down. She kissed his chest through his shirt, and then continued down his chest and his stomach, working her way down as she slowly went to her knees on the carpet in front of him. She pulled his jeans down as she went, leaving him standing in his boxers, the front of the thin material tenting out over his groin. When she finally came to rest on her knees, she looked up at him, stray curls framing her face and her lips curling into a smile. She let her hands rest at his hips, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin on his hipbone, tracing slow circles as she looked up at him. “What do you want now, Mr. Hall?” She widened her eyes, giving him an innocent look that Rob knew was a complete farce. She knew exactly what she was doing. Reaching down, he smoothed a hand across her hair, and then cupped her chin. “Take my boxers off.” She reacted instantly, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and pulling them slowly down. His cock caught on the band, and then sprang up again as it finally came free, and Julie was left kneeling in front of his stiff cock. Her cheeks went red, and Rob lifted an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you could get embarrassed,” He commented, and the girl looked away, biting her bottom lip. “You’re bigger than I imagined.” She murmured--Rob could barely hear her over the soft sound of the tv and the soft moans coming from the armchair across the room. He raked his fingers through her curls, smirking down at her before he glanced up at where Marc and Amanda were kissing deeply. The girl’s compliment gave his ego a little boost, but he became distracted when he saw Marc kissing the other girl. The man’s hand had found its way inside the girl’s jumpsuit, and Rob lifted an eyebrow, realizing that Amanda wasn’t wearing a bra either. The girl’s breasts peeked out from between the unzipped jumpsuit, and Marc massaged them slowly, tweaking her nipples between his thumb and forefinger hard enough to make her gasp. Marc must have unzipped her jumpsuit more, because Rob could see not only her breasts, but a generous expanse of her chest and stomach. Like Julie, she was fit, her stomach flat, and her breasts were ample. He could feel his cock throbbing with heat as he watched his friend kiss and fondle the other girl, and he turned his attention back to Julie where she still knelt patiently before him. She looked up at him when he turned to look at her again, and her lips had curled into a smile. Tipping her head, she grinned, arching both eyebrows curiously at him. Her look seemed to say “well?” Rob hooked his fingers under the girl’s chin, tipping her head up slightly. “It looks like they’re having fun.” From the corner of his eyes, he saw Marc pull away from the girl and turn slightly to glance at them. “I think we could have even more fun.” The girl’s cheeks burned, and Rob smirked down at her. In one smooth movement, he dug his fingers into her hair at the back of her neck, pulling her toward him. She came willingly, opening her mouth as though she’d been anticipating his action. There was no teasing, no warm up. She didn’t wait to kiss him or tease his cock with her lips. She simply opened up her mouth, letting him plunge his cock into the waiting, wet cavern, and he threw his head back, letting out a loud, unrestrained moan. Her tongue went to work as he pulled back and then immediately plunged back into the heat and wetness of her mouth. With some quick movements, bobbing her head slightly to take in more of him, she soon had his entire length wet and slick. The added moisture just made it easier for him to slide himself in and out of her mouth, and Rob tightened his fingers in her hair, settling into a steady rhythm as he fucked the girl’s mouth. In the armchair, Marc had become distracted from the girl whose breasts had fairly burst out of her jumpsuit when Rob and the other girl began to talk quietly together. He pulled away from Amanda with a soft slurping sound, but left his hand on her breast as he turned to look at Rob and Julie where they’d stood up from the couch. Julie had taken off her top, and Marc got a good look at her breasts, perky, her nipples hard little nubs, as she knelt in front of his friend. Though he wouldn’t have made a big deal out of it, Marc knew way too much about his friend’s sexual tastes, and he knew what was coming next as Rob put his hands on the girl’s head. Beside him, Amanda turned to look as well, and she let out a small gasp at the sight of her friend kneeling in front of the half naked older man. Marc glanced at her as Rob pulled the other girl onto his cock, and he  could see Amanda’s eyes focused on the sight. She was trembling slightly, and her face had gone red, but Marc recognized the way she squirmed slightly in her seat. Leaning closer to the girl, tweaking one of her nipples slightly, Marc pressed a hot kiss against her ear. “Your friend looks like she’s having fun.” He whispered against her ear, and she shivered, squirming again, clamping her hands between her thighs. “She looks like a little slut, letting Rob fuck her face like that.” The words he said didn’t really seem to matter. Amanda had begun to pant slightly, and she squirmed, reaching up to bury her fingers into his hair, holding him close to her neck. He took the hint, pressing hot kisses against her neck. The girl let out a soft moan and whimpered as he kissed her neck before biting her collarbone gently. Her fingers tightened in his hair, and as Marc glanced up at her, he saw that her eyes had not left the scene in front of them. Sending a quick glance at his friend and the other girl, Marc saw that Rob had settled into a rhythm, his hips gyrating slightly as he plunged himself in and out of Julie’s mouth, moaning loudly. The sight sent another quick pulse of heat through Marc’s body, and he slowly raked his fingernails down Amanda’s body, touching the zipper and dragging it down further. She whimpered again, turning away from the sight of her friend moaning around Rob’s cock and pulling Marc into a hot, hard kiss. Surprised by the girl’s initiative and passion, Marc accepted the kiss, letting his fingers tease the new expanse of skin he’d revealed. He let his fingers search further down, until he found the hem of her panties. He’d been curious to see whether or not she was wearing any. Julie certainly hadn’t been. He’d gotten a good look at her pussy when she’d flashed him earlier, but he was almost happier to see that she was wearing a pair of white lace panties under her jumpsuit. As she kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth, Marc could feel her hands clutching at his shirt, and then slowly working their way down his chest. He shifted, leaning back so she could touch him wherever she wanted. She chose to go to his belt, unfastening it with fumbling fingers while Marc moaned into her mouth. All of her shyness had apparently melted away, and Marc wasn’t going to complain as she yanked at the zipper of his pants, easing some of the tension where he’d been pressing painfully against the rough denim. The girl’s touches were light as she teased the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, dipping below the hem of his pants, and finally snaking in to touch him lightly. He shuddered as she wrapped her fingers around his cock and tangled his fingers into her hair, pulling her into a deeper kiss. He couldn’t keep a moan from escaping as she began to stroke him lightly through the thin material of his boxers. For such a shy, uptight girl, she seemed to know what she was doing with a dick in her hand. Her touch was featherlight, sending bolts of electricity through him as he stiffened fully, and he gasped, clutching tighter at her hair as she gripped him more firmly. With her other hand, she began working his jeans down. Marc leaned up slightly, giving her room to pull his jeans all the way off, and gasped as she let go of his cock long enough to yank his boxers down. He felt a shudder run down his spine and he threw his head back against the couch as she went back to stroking him. Her mouth went to his throat and she began pressing soft, hot kisses to the sensitive skin there. The touch of her mouth, combined with the touch of her hand on his cock, sent heat through his whole body.

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Writing Commission Valentine’s Day Special!

Those of you who work retail will know, we have reached the dreaded slow season, so I have a lot more time to write now. And also may or may not be having trouble making rent, d’oh.

I’m offering 1,000 word drabbles for $5 each!

Have an OTP you want to be fluffy and adorable together?

Have an erotic scene you just can’t get right?

Want to see your characters enjoy a cute date?

I can do all that, and more! Check out my commission sheet for more information, and let me do some Valentine’s Day writing for you!

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Writing Sample--Fantasy, death scene

Here's another short piece I wrote on that character death scene prompt from lazy-writing-prompts on Tumblr.. This one: A violent death. Word count: roughly 1,200.

“Liar!” “Freak!” “Coward!” The shouts, starting as individual words, projected toward him from people scattered through the crowd, soon began to meld together into one long, steady roar of sound as the cries came faster and louder. Craft spun slowly on the spot, disoriented by the mass of bodies, the glimmering, glaring glow of hundreds of minds swarming on all sides of him. The voices, growing so loud, each individual shout lost among hundreds of other yells, distorting until he couldn’t distinguish one voice for another, or one screamed taunt from the others. He didn’t want to admit it, but a small voice in the back of his mind was screaming as well, panicking as he realized he needed to get out of the crowd, now, before they worked themselves into more of a frenzy. As he turned slowly, scanning the writhing crowd with his mind, looking for a break in the mass of bodies or a sympathetic mind among the glowing swarm of angry consciousnesses, a single voice rose above the cacophony, screaming so loudly that Craft could hear it clearly above the throng. “Demon!” That word, the dreaded name of something most people grew up in terror of, was the last straw. If the crowd had been writhing before now, the word sent them into a frenzy. The minds around him, already glowing bright, nearly blinding in their heightened state, jumped from bright to burning. Feelings, snatches of thought, pressed against Craft from all sides. Fear. Anger. Terror. And an overwhelming, suffocating hatred. These people, this town, hated him and everything he stood for. He had encountered prejudice before now--people who feared and hated magic users, and so feared and hated him, the magic user who often came to their homes only to bring punishment or retaliation, more often than not. It wasn’t often that someone paid for his services only to have him make a delivery or something equally benign. He was paid to hurt, and to kill. The crowd around him began to hum with a fresh buzz of activity. He could feel the minds of the people pressing against his own mind, confusing him as their harsh thoughts toward him nearly drowned out his own thoughts. He reeled, lifting a hand to his head as the teeming consciousnesses pushed in on him, the pressure bringing an ache to the front of his head, behind his useless eyes. He got only a second’s notice, nothing more than the barest glint of intent from one of the hundreds of minds, before the first rock flew. It wasn’t nearly enough time. Though he flinched, he could do no more than prepare for the blow as a rock sailed through the air and smashed into his shoulder. The impact knocked his shoulder back, and he grunted, throwing his opposite hand up to cradle the injury. That first stone broke down a barrier the crowd had so far not breached; something in the crowd broke, and suddenly they were all screaming and reaching for rocks,, the single, hate-filled word falling on his ears again and again as they began to pelt him--and each other, by sheer closeness--with rocks. “Demon! Demon! Demon!” The rocks seemed to come from all angles. He could feel the minds intending to throw them, but among the hundreds of other minds, all screaming hatred and angry thoughts at him, though none of them could have guessed how much of it he felt, he had no hope of pinpointing them. Rocks pummeled him, coming slowly at first, but gaining speed as more and more people began to pick up rocks and hurl them in his direction. Most of them flew long, or fell short, hitting others in the crowd or falling harmlessly to the dirt, but more than enough found their mark. These hit his arms, his legs, his back; one flew and struck him a glancing blow to the face, tearing a sharp cry out of him. He put his hand to his forehead, pulling it away sticky with his own blood. The whole world seemed to have gone mad. The voice in his own head, the screaming, panicking voice just added to the din in his mind, screaming at him to escape, to flee, before it was too late. But it was already too late. More and more rocks flew, and he flinched with each blow, until someone stepped toward him. He was too late to react, turning just in time to catch the man’s fist on his jaw. This blow floored him--caught off guard, completely unprepared, Craft fell, seeing stars that weren’t the glowing minds of other people behind his eyes, flashing as the impact crushed into his jaw. His ears rang, and he caught himself on his elbows, pain jarring up his arms and shoulders, into his neck. Another blow hit him before he could recover--a man’s foot, heavy in its boot, crashing against his shoulder as he lay in the dirt, struggling to recover his feet. The man’s boot tore through the cloth of his jerkin, and he felt a sharp sting of pain as he realized it had cut him, too. Like the stones, the moment someone else threw the first punch, the entire crowd joined in. Craft found himself surrounded, with strangers on all sides of him, pummeling him where he lay in the dirt. Their fists and feet fell with more precision than the rocks, hitting his ribs, his back, his hips. It was all he could do to cover his head, protecting it from the worst of the blows as the crowd fell on him. He couldn’t get his bearings. Blind, unable to see well enough to right himself or avoid the heavy fists and feet that fell again and again, he felt truly helpless for the first time in more than a hundred years. He couldn’t gather his thoughts enough to draw on the flow of magic and cast a spell, and he couldn’t stand and defend himself from the crowd. Not that defending himself would have done any good; his two daggers stood no chance of taking on hundreds of angry villagers. Curling in on himself, he covered his head with his arms, writhing in pain as the blows continued to fall. He could feel his consciousness fading. The usual blackness behind his eyes had darkened, the blazing minds of the hate-filled crowd seeming to dim as he felt the far reaches of his mind folding in on itself. The roiling, violent thoughts of the people around him seemed to come to him slower, and he realized he was falling into unconsciousness. The tiny part of his mind that had been screaming this whole time continued to do so, but fainter now, less urgent. The final sensation was the sharp, agonizing pain of a spear shoved into his back with the full force of its owner behind the blow. He screamed, and a rain of blows landed on and around his back, sending shooting pain through every inch of his body--from the top of his head to his toes, the pain jangling through every nerve. The sun rose the next morning on a solemn, silent village. The streets, empty save for the earliest of risers, bore no hint of the violence they’d witnessed the previous day, save the small, shrunken corpse of a red haired man, nearly indistinguishable after the beating the crowd had given him.

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Commission Sample--Erotic, nsfw, OC

Commission piece written for R-Tillirey. This excerpt is roughly 1,700 words, the whole piece was a 5k piece.

The movie continued to play in the background as Rob and Julie flirted silently, and Rob could see Marc sending less-than-subtle glances at the other girl where she sat uncomfortably. He was losing a lot of his concentration as Julie began to gently trace her fingers over his jeans, tracing patterns over his knee, staying just shy of anything that could be misconstrued as inappropriate. Her touch still sent thrills of sensation up Rob’s leg, sending heat straight to his groin. Truth be told, he’d been trying to hide how turned on he was since he first saw Julie in her tiny cheerleader outfit. Her light touches were just working him up even more, and he shifted slightly on the couch as he could feel himself getting hard as she teased him. Across from him, Marc was still sending subtle looks in their direction. Even though the touches were light, and she didn’t stray from the spot just above his knee, Rob knew it was anything but an innocent touch, and Marc would obviously be able to tell, as well. He didn’t let himself meet Marc’s eyes again, instead focusing on the feel of the girl’s hands as she continued to carefully trace slow patterns over his knee. As the minutes passed, she grew bolder, letting her fingers crawl up his thigh, and Rob couldn’t stop a soft sigh from leaving him as her touch sent tingles coursing through him. The girl glanced up at him--he hadn’t been able to fully hide the sound, and he knew Marc and Amanda were looking as well. Not really caring, too aroused by now to think it through, he turned and looked down at the girl. She was smirking, her lips curling in a way that made him think about all the other things her mouth would look good doing. Seeing her smirking at him like that, he leaned down to her, putting his mouth against her ear. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” He asked, keeping his voice to a low, breathy whisper. He could feel her hair stirring as he spoke close to her ear, and he felt a certain satisfaction when the girl shivered, the tips of her fingers digging into his thigh briefly. Though she didn’t speak, she nodded, the movement shaky and erratic. He could feel her squirming as he kept his mouth close to her ear, letting his lips just barely touch the skin behind her ear. “Did you come here tonight to do this?” Julie turned her body slightly so that she faced him more closely, and he had to adjust slightly, dropping his arm around her shoulders. For a moment she looked up at him, her hand still resting on his thigh, her other hand clutching slightly at the sleeve of his sweater. Though the movie still played softly in the background, and Rob was sure Marc and Amanda were looking, he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the girl. As she met his eyes, she bit her bottom lip again, pushing her chest out so that he got the full advantage of the cut-out in her top. After a moment, she leaned toward him, bringing her own mouth to his ear. For a split second she said nothing, instead breathing a long, shuddery breath into his ear, and he felt a shiver run down his spine at the close contact. Then, she took a deep breath, and whispered into his ear, “Yes.” That was all the permission Rob needed. Julie pulled away from him slightly, and their breath mingled between them as they met each other’s eyes. Then, almost before Rob had figured out what happened, the girl leaned in and pressed her lips to his. It was an inexpert kiss, but the touch of her fingers on his thigh, digging into the flesh a bit as she tightened her fingers, sent a jolt through him, and he could feel the zipper on his jeans pressing into him as his cock stiffened. Her lips were soft, and her breasts, as they pressed against him through her shirt, softer still. When he broke away from the kiss, the girl was panting softly. Her eyes had fallen closed, and her fingers clutched tightly at the sleeve of his sweater. She smiled, her eyes fluttering open to look at him before Rob hooked his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in so he could kiss her again. She leaned into the contact, shivers wracking her small frame as he settled his other hand at her waist. As they kissed, Rob shifted slightly, leaning back against the arm of the couch so that Julie could stretch out, lying on top of him. Rob’s thoughts scattered as he kissed the girl, feeling the softness of her breasts, and the curve of her slim body as she came to rest on top of him. He let both his hands settle on her hips, before slowly beginning to caress her back. His touch got a soft gasp out of the girl, and she arched against him, tangling both hands in his hair and deepening the kiss. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Rob knew Marc and the other girl were probably watching--and probably scandalized, if his first impression of Amanda was correct--but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Soon, he was totally caught up in the feel of the girl in his arms, the warm of her mouth on his, and the softness of her body as her weight rested on top of him. Across the room, Marc couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at the turn of events. He’d known Rob, and Missy, long enough to pick up hints about their lifestyle, and two young, scantily clad girls showing up on the porch in the middle of the night had been more than enough for Marc to guess where the night was heading. He had pretended to focus on the movie after Rob switched it on, but the activities on the couch were too much, and he kept sending glances their way, watching as they progressed from talking, to flirting, to touching, and now, finally, to kissing. He didn’t even bother hiding the fact that he was watching, now, and he looked on as Rob and the young girl kissed on the couch, feeling the stirrings of arousal deep in the pit of his stomach. When he glanced across the room at the other girl, she, too, was staring at the pair on the couch. Her mouth had fallen open, and her eyes were wide, but he could see, even from this side of the room, that she was blushing. Her face was red, and she had shifted from her curled up position to sitting on the edge of her seat, her legs clamped together, her hands tight in between them as she fidgeted. It was obvious that she, too, was being affected by the display. After a few minutes, during which Rob and Julie just got deeper into what they were doing, Marc finally moved. Without making a too much noise, he stood, and though Rob and the girl didn’t react, he saw Amanda’s eyes fly to him, still wide, but wary now. She watched as he approached her with slow steps, and Marc smiled at the girl, nodding his head toward the couple as their passion seemed only to grow. “Weren’t quite expecting this, were you?” He asked, keeping his tone light, conversational. He pushed one hand into his pants pocket, smiling at the girl as she shifted, glancing away from him. “Looks like your friend had a plan.” The girl shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. “She’s always doing stuff like this.” She finally said, and Marc thought he could hear a hint of a pout in her voice. “I mean, with the older guys, and the, you know.” Her flush deepened, and she ducked her head a bit, her hair falling into her face. Marc perched on the arm of the chair, letting the silence stretch for a moment as they both looked at the couple on the couch. Rob’s hands had found his way to Julie’s ass now, and the girl was beginning to moan softly. When he glanced at Amanda, seeing her watching as well, he broke the silence again. “You mean you just let her have all the fun?” “I guess so.” her voice had changed to a squeak, and her hands twisted in her lap as she looked at her friend and Rob, the look on her face a combination of interest and something Marc might have described as longing. Taking his chance, he leaned down toward the girl, letting his hand drop on the back of the chair, not quite around her shoulders. “You know,” keeping his voice low, he leaned as close to her as he dared at the moment. “She doesn’t have to have all the fun.” The girl shivered, and Marc smiled to himself, pleased with the reaction. She looked away from the couple on the couch, chewing the inside of her lip and reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. From where he sat above her, Marc could see down the front of her jumpsuit, and he was surprised to realize she wasn’t wearing a bra. He would have expected such an up-tight girl to wear one--probably a sensible one, too. As she shifted in the chair, turning slightly, the top of the jumpsuit opened a bit, and he caught a glimpse of her nipple. The sight sent a surge of heat through him, and he could feel his cock stiffening slightly just from that tiny glimpse. The girl below him thought for a long moment, her gaze down on the carpet, her hands twisting in her lap. When she finally looked up at him, Marc could see the answer in her eyes before she spoke. “We could . . . have fun.” The uncertainty in her voice was endearing, but Marc didn’t give it much thought. Before she could change her mind, he’d leaned down close to her again, pushed his hand through her dark hair, and pulled her into a kiss.

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Writing Sample--Fantasy, OC, 1k piece

Here's another prompted piece that I wrote while drunk last night. I apparently use way too many adjectives while drunk. A short fantasy piece based on my OC, where the prompt, given by @lazy-writing-prompts, is to give your protagonist several deaths. This death: A peaceful death as an elderly person. I'm actually going to enjoy this prompt, as so far I've never given this character's death any thought. Word count: 955

The cold had come, spreading across the ground in a thin layer of frost, eating into the air until every breath was like knives in his chest. Craft lay quietly on the floor of the deep cave, the cold air from outside burning his lungs, but the warmth at his back and enveloping him from every side kept the shivers at bay. Though they had been lying together for the night and most of the day, Mirroth remained still, cushioning Craft’s head on his flank. The rough scales of his hide didn’t make for a very comfortable pillow, but the touch of a familiar friend brought Craft peace in his last hours. 

A heavy, wet cough wracked Craft’s frame, and he sat up with the effort, holding one hand to his chest, the other to his mouth as he coughed until he choked. With a grunt of concern, twin streams of smoke flowing from his nostrils, Mirroth lifted his head from the ground. Raising the wing that canopied Craft and swinging his head around on his long neck, the dragon looked at Craft closely with one huge, golden eye, appraising the man as he gasped for breath. The effort of coughing exhausted Craft, and he fell back against the dragon’s flank, clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. Are you alright? The dragon’s words came to him as if from a long distance--even Craft’s own thoughts seemed far away. It took him a moment to remember that Mirroth could not physically speak the common tongue and communicated purely through a mental connection that, even in his current state, Craft left open for the dragon to use. You’re sending your every thought out for anyone to hear. Mirroth told him, and Craft peered up into the dragon’s huge golden eye, unseeing. I’ve done what I can to hide you from anyone who might venture near. The dragon was quick to reassure him. He blinked his eye slowly, and Craft relaxed against the sturdy curve of the creature’s hind leg, reclining into the heat that radiated from the furnace deep in his belly. He had come to recognize and find comfort in the feel of the dragon’s scales and the sharp edge of Mirroth’s knee as he leaned against the creature. Craft had not felt at peace in a truly long time. Most humans only suffered through a handful of decades of indecision and unrest before finally finding peace in death, but Craft had lived for far too long in unhappiness. He leaned back against Mirroth, gazing up unseeing at the expanse of red-gold skin that stretched between the bones of the dragon’s wing, where he’d bent it over Craft into a sort of make-shift tent. Images of his life seemed to play before his sightless eyes, projected onto the ever present blackness, and he smiled as the memories played through his mind. Rachel played prominently through his memories, but her image soon mixed with Rose’s, and Rose’s with the vague image he had constructed of Thelbriza. Many of the memories were merely muddy, dreamlike visions of what he had imagined the people and places he’d experienced in his life would look like, but they were as real in his aged, cloudy mind as any of the memories from before he lost his sight. As Mirroth observed, his slow, heavy breaths lifting Craft’s head an inch or two every time his breast expanded, the man faded. The man had been a source of light in the dragons life for many, many years--nobody the beast had ever encountered had had a lifespan long enough to rival his own. Except for Craft. Though he could not cry, as the last of the man’s life force slipped away, evaporating into the heavens like the smoke from a candle, the dragon keened softly. The sound rose unbidden in his throat, like the high, mournful sound of the wind in the trees, and he nosed at the man’s corpse softly as he cried. Craft had seen Mirroth through more than a century of his life. The dragon had grown from nothing more than a few years’ old hatchling no larger than a draft horse to a beast larger than most human buildings while under Craft’s supervision. While the man’s hoard of gold had grown, so had the beast, and they had traveled together, nearly inseparable, for the better part of one hundred years. The sudden, inescapable, clawing emptiness that touched Mirroth as the man died sent him into a grief the likes of which he had never known, and the dragon’s long, keening cry rose, in pitch and volume, until the cold, stone ceiling of the cave shook. It was many hours before the dragon could bring himself to move, uncurling from where he’d lay with the man, his body curved into a protective wall between the old man and the cold, unforgiving winter air. Still howling, the dragon hefted himself to his feet, his claws digging into the pliable stone below, carving deep grooves as he dragged himself out of the cave. The piles of gold and trinkets glimmered dully in the crisp, dawn light, but Mirroth paid no mind.   Collapsing the entrance to the cave was the work of a few minutes for the beast, and when he had finished, the cave-in appeared natural. The pile of rocks blocked the entrance completely, and Mirroth looked on for a moment before nodding, satisfied that Craft would not be disturbed for many years to come. Goodbye, friend. Though Craft’s spirit had gone, he still sent his thought into the air, some part of him hoping that the man would hear him, and be glad. Thank you, for everything.

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Writers don’t write from experience, although many are hesitant to admit that they don’t. …If you wrote from experience, you’d get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy.

Nikki Giovanni

You must be unintimidated by your own thoughts because if you write with someone looking over you shoulder, you’ll never write. ― Nikki Giovanni

It is not unusual to sift through ashes and find an unburnt picture ― Nikki Giovanni

(via thegriffinsinkpot)

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Can’t agree with this enough.

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Writing Sample--Modern, OC

This is another piece I wrote from a tumblr prompt, given by lazy-writing-prompts. The prompt: Describe your character without using colors. It's a description of a character I've been developing and exploring lately. Word count: roughly 700.

The bar got gradually louder as the hours passed. People began to trickle in, in groups of two or three, occasionally in bigger groups of five or six. With the growing crowds, the sound of voices built, with people laughing and talking together in their groups of friends. Music blared in the background, and the sound of voices continued to grow, as everyone tried to talk over everyone else, struggling to be heard. 

Amid the activity, the movement as people milled about the big, open room, chatting, drinking, and even daring to eat the greasy food offered by the small kitchen, one woman sat still. She sat on one of the high stools at the bar, alone, her elbow propped on the bar, her chin resting in her hand, and a faraway look in her eyes. She seemed not to notice the building drone of sound and movement around her as the bar filled, her eyes turned to the array of bottles behind the bar, but not seeing them. She seemed totally absorbed in her own thoughts; her eyes had gone unfocused, like she was looking at something so far away that no one else could see it. The woman wore a dress that fairly dripped off of her; the material stretched and clung in all the right places, emphasizing her curves. The neckline cut so low that as she leaned against the bar a generous view of her cleavage became visible to anyone who cared to look. A pair of strappy heels clung to her feet through sheer force of will. As she sat, a curtain of her light hair had fallen over her face, screening her from half of the room. Still seeming not to notice any of the noise around her, she reached for the half-full glass of dark liquid that lay in front of her, and lifted it to her lips, where a tiny smudge of her dark lipstick had marred an otherwise flawless look. Other than the smudge of lipstick, her makeup was flawlessly applied. Dark, winged liner and heavy eyelashes rimmed her eyes, and as she turned her head slightly, a shimmer of highlighter became apparent where she had applied it to emphasize the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the smooth curve of her forehead where it could be seen under a thin fringe of her hair. Everything about her appearance had a purposeful look to it–well put-together. Her entire outfit looked planned, from the dress that dripped from her slim frame to the dark shoes, from the glittering floral clip that held portions of her hair away from her face to the clutch purse that rested on the bar under one of her hands.  She looked like someone who had somewhere to be and someone to be with, and yet she sat at the bar alone as the building filled around her. She remained still, her eyes unfocused and her mouth turned down at the corners, until the bartender approached and spoke. His voice carried to her even over the din, though he spoke in a low tone that only the woman could hear. “Are you okay over here? Can I get you anything?” The woman stirred as though coming out of a doze, and her eyes came into focus as she straightened on the stool. “Oh, no, I’m fine. Thank you.” Her own voice cut through the background chatter, despite the fact she hadn’t spoken any louder than he had. He looked at the woman for a brief moment, before he moved on down the bar. As he left, the woman settled back into her position, her eyes glazing over again as she slowly lifted the drink to her lips and sipped it. A moment later, she stirred again as the door opened, sending a shaft of sunlight shattering off the bottles that sat behind the bar.  She straightened, turning on the stool slightly to face the door, and as a figure entered, the first hint of a genuine expression came over her face. A smile broke across her face, and her eyes lit up in a way that hadn’t seemed possible only a moment before. The change was drastic, but she seemed not to notice as she slipped off the stool, reaching down to adjust her dress, pulling at the hem and then throwing her hair over her shoulder, lifting her smiling face as the figure approached.

[let-me-write-for-you-blog]

5 Signs You Treat Your Reader Like an Idiot

(1) Overusing Adverbs

For Example: “Get out, Michael. I swear to God, get out before I try to kill you. I wasted two years of my life on your pathetic cheating ass. Get out!” Tara yelled angrily.

Adverbs are, more often than not, useless additions to your writing. Looking to the example above, adding “angrily” to the end of the line tells the reader nothing new. The reader knew Tara was angry, because Tara is clearly yelling at Michael. The dialogue alone is enough to portray this, and I’m sure with the full scene, the reader doesn’t need any extra help. Adverbs clutter up your writing and weaken your writing. Trust the reader to catch on without the adverb.

(2) “As if” Phrases

For Example: Mrs. Winters lingered over Bryan, her stern face glaring down at him, as if daring him to speak out again.

You don’t need to explain why characters are doing what they do. “As if” phrases are explanations we don’t need. Your writing needs to be strong enough to portray that Mrs. Winters wants Bryan to shut up.

(3) Exposition in Dialogue  

For Example: “Hello, Bridget, my ex-girlfriend who cheated on me with Brad”.

I wrote a whole post on this last week, because exposition in dialogue is absolutely terrible, but I will say it again. Using dialogue to explain things is usually just lazy writing. Dialogue needs to sound the way that people actually talk. Keep in mind that the characters know more than they say, and rarely need to explain it.

(4) Lazy Research

For Example: The curtains opened and Jared lifted the wand. With a wave, he instructed the winds start playing. The hall filled with the melody of flutes, clarinets and trumpets.

To the untrained eye, Jared is a decent conductor, and is doing a fine job leading the orchestra. To a musician, this scene would come off as weird. The stick a conductor uses is a baton, not a wand. Trumpets are not wind instruments. These details aren’t enough to completely ruin a story, but if you have a character interested, you need to do research. Know what you’re talking about. Using the right words, terms that are only used within the community (for this example, words like staccato or laccato tell musicians how to play a note).  If you have a character who is a musician, learn about music. If you have a character who does ballet, learn what a pliée is, and what an arabesque is. Don’t assume your readers won’t notice if you mess up on small details. The small details matter.

(5) One Dimensional Characters

No matter how minor a character is, it is your job to make them matter. Every character should have some sort of story. It might go untold, but characters need to be people in the universe you created, not plot devices there to guide your main character to what they need to do. This is especially true when writing women. Many female characters are written with the purpose of being a love interest to your main character, and they deserve more than that. 

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Source

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I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.

Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane  (via thequotejournals)

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let-me-write-for-you:

All my commission information can be found here, including pricing and more detailed descriptions of what I’m willing and able to write. I have been writing for nearly 20 years, with plenty of practice and a handful of creative writing (and other English) courses thrown in. 

I am still  for OPEN for commissions.

Perhaps a drabble? Perhaps an epic fantasy? A one-shot to explore some character dynamics? 

Bring your ideas to me, and I’ll write for you!

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Writing Sample--modern, OC

This is a piece I wrote from a prompt by @auideas. I wanted to explore some of the dynamic behind some newer characters of mine. This piece is roughly 1,700 words long.

Ana couldn’t remember the last time she’d been awake to see a sunrise. She knew, without having to see her reflection, that she looked rough. She could feel the bags under her eyes, the heaviness in her eyelids from her sleepless night, and she knew her makeup was smudged and her hair a mess. She carried her heels by the straps in one hand, feeling the sand shifting under her feet as she walked across the beach.

At first, dawn had been nothing more than a lightening on the horizon--a faint change in the light as the blackness turned to grayness, the blurry outlines of everything around her gradually sharpening as the light grew. It took her looking out across the water and noticing the faint pink smudges extending across the horizon to realize that what she was seeing was genuine dawn. The sight stopped her in her tracks, the damp sand squishing between her toes as the edges of the waves lapped at her feet. As she stood watching the sun rise, watching the fog burn away to leave the stretch of beach almost glimmering, she sighed. The water was calm, the waves lapping at the shore softly, stretching and receding again and again, and she could feel the cold water touching her skin, sending prickles of sensation up her spine.

She couldn’t say how long she’d been standing in the silence, but it must have been quite some time. Her mind had gone blank--not empty, her thoughts were always roiling--and she had dropped the constant vigilance she kept up under normal circumstances. A sudden storm of barking broke through her reverie, and she turned, losing her footing in the soft sand. She had only turned enough to catch a glimpse of red fur before two heavy paws hit her in the chest, and the weight behind a massive dog carried her to the ground.

“Holy shit!” The weight hit her like a ton of bricks, the beast’s paws striking her with a series of thuds, and then slamming into the sand beside her face. Her first instinct was fear--terror as a strange dog’s jaws came close to her face--but before she could react with anything other than a short scream, the dog barked and set to work licking her face. Its tongue touched her skin like a warm, wet sponge, leaving a trail of saliva across her cheek that left her sputtering. Though her hands went to the dog’s neck, her fingers clutching at the long, tangled mass of red fur, she was helpless to actually stop it from licking her, its weight pushing her down into the sand as her struggles sent sand flying into the air.

As she struggled, she heard a voice raised in anger, yelling a word that sounded suspiciously like “Lincoln!” again and again. When the dog looked up, giving her a brief respite from its attentions, she could hear the same voice, softer now, coaxing the dog until it finally bounded away, its paws leaving her chest with a force that pushed all the air out of her lungs. She gasped, and sat up, wiping at her face with her free hand as she clutched at a weight that seemed far too light for both shoes. Casting around, she saw her other shoe lying in the sand beside her, where she’d dropped it, and sand clinging to the material of her dress. If she’d hoped to make it home with some dignity, that hope was now dashed, as she pushed herself up to her feet, trying to brush away the sand and failing.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry!” Looking up, she finally saw the owner of the voice that had called the dog away. It was a man, his sandy hair cropped close to his head, and his skin slightly tanned from time spent in the sun. His hands had closed around the dog’s collar, his knuckles whitening as the dog struggled to pull away again. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Ana shrugged, bending down again to scoop up her shoe. The suede had been totally ruined by the damp sand, as had her dress, but she wasn’t too concerned about that. She could always replace shoes and a dress. “I’m fine. He’s pretty. Irish setter?” Her sentences came out clipped; she didn’t trust herself to say more without breaking down, and doing so in front of a complete stranger was something she would not allow herself to do.

The man looked up at her, his movements jerky as he threw his head back, still fighting to keep the struggling dog from breaking free. Something about  the man made her look again, but he was a stranger. A tall, light-haired, handsome stranger. “Are you sure? I’m really sorry, I don’t know how he got off his leash.”

Ana shrugged, staggering toward the man. The dog strained, digging his back paws into the sand as his front paws lifted off the ground, kicking at the air as he strove to break free again. She knew she cut quite a picture--smudged makeup, hair a mess, sand sticking to her dress and the backs of her thighs--and she took a sick sort of satisfaction from watching the man flinch away from her as she approached. Without giving the man a second glance, she dropped to her knees in the sand, throwing her hands out to welcome the dog as it strained against its collar. The dog wiggled in her arms as she welcomed him, squirming until his owner let go of his collar, huffing and propping his hands on his hips.

“I guess he likes you.”

She almost didn’t hear him over the dog’s whines of joy and short, sharp barks as he spun in her arms. His movements almost prevented her actually petting him, but after a moment of activity, he settled down, standing with his back to his owner, his chin resting on Ana’s shoulder as she wrapped both arms around him. It was the closest she’d been to a living, breathing creature that genuinely appreciated her presence and affection in far, far too long. The warm contact, the dog’s hot breath in her ear as he still tried to lick any patch of skin he could find, proved too much. Before she knew it, despite every ounce of her being rebelling against her body’s reactions, tears began to flow.

She tried to hide them, at first. Pressing her face into the dog’s warm, sun-kissed fur, she thought she may have succeeded, but just then the man bent down beside the dog as well, the knees of his jeans showing signs of wear, where he’d no doubt gone to his knees beside the dog countless times before. His hand found the dog’s head, and then he said the three words guaranteed to always break her already shattered composure.

“Are you okay?”

If she’d been hoping to have a quick, quiet cry into the dog’s neck and then carry on as if nothing had happened, that hope was dashed the instant those words left the man’s mouth. Something in her snapped, like a rubber band that  had been left in the sun for too long and then stretched to full capacity. Clutching at the dog’s fur, she felt a sob shake her, and she was gone, lost in the tears that came after being held back for far too long. Seeming to sense the change, the dog stilled, resting his head on her shoulder, his snuffly breaths stirring her hair as he panted beside her. Even the stranger had stilled, still kneeling beside the dog, his hand on its head as he quietly waited for her to calm.

After a moment, the sobs slowed, and she sniffed, swiping at the tears on her cheeks. Glancing up, she saw that the stranger had looked away, focusing his attention on the dog as it stood again, plumed tail waving slowly from side to side. The man glanced at her as she straightened, still wiping at the dampness her tears had left behind, and she ducked her head, expecting to see judgement, scorn, or disgust in his eyes. Instead, as he spoke, drawing her eyes to his face, she saw only concern.

“I’m really sorry. He didn’t hurt you, did he? Is there anything I can do to help?” His voice remained soft, almost as though he was afraid of scaring her away. As Ana stood, brushing sand from her dress, he did as well, and she could feel his gaze on her as she carefully avoided looking into his face.

“I’m fine.” She lied, the words rolling off her tongue easily, her voice still thick with tears. She swiped at an errant piece of hair, pushing it behind her ear, and shrugged both shoulders. “Had a long night. I really need to be getting home, actually.”

The man nodded his head, and Ana braved a glance at him as he bent down to clip the leash back on his dog. As he straightened, she looked quickly away again, but not before she’d seen the look in his eyes--it still wasn’t disgust, but pity was almost worse. “I hope you have a better day than your night was.” The words sounded genuine, but Ana still narrowed her eyes at him, unsure if she believed the sentiment. “I walk around this time of day pretty frequently. If you ever need anything, just . . . well, I’ll be around.”

She could hear the way he’d stopped himself, but something about his words touched her. Sniffling, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand, she nodded slowly, finally meeting his eyes for an instant before she looked away again. His eyes were golden brown, like his hair and beard--like her own eyes, she realized--and there was nothing but kindness and concern on his face as he looked at her. Bending to pat the dog’s head once more, Ana forced herself to speak again as she straightened and turned to leave.

“Thanks.” The single word seemed inadequate, not nearly enough to fully convey everything she was feeling, toward the man and toward his dog, but it would have to do. He said nothing as she turned away, but she could feel his eyes on her back as she left, her toes still squishing through the soft sand as she walked slowly toward home. Somehow, she felt as though this wasn’t the last she was going to see of the man.

[let-me-write-for-you-blog]

Do dragons exist in your setting?

What do dragons look like? >Are there different types/subspecies of dragons, or is there only one? >>If there are different subspecies, what are the similarities? Why are they all dragons instead of being classified as different species? >How large do dragons get when fully grown? >What size are they when they’re babies? >What is the general shape of a dragon? >>Short and fat? >>Cow-like? >>Lizard-like? >>Long and skinny? >>Snake-like? >How many legs do they have? >Do they have wings? >>How many sets? >Do they have horns? >Spikes? >Antlers? >Claws? >>Are their claws for digging or for tearing? >What does their face look like? >What shape are their teeth? >>Or do they have beaks? >Do they have feathers or scales? >>Both? >>Neither? >>>What do they have instead?

How strong are dragons naturally? >Can they do anything to increase their strength? >>What? >What does their hide protect them against? >>The heat? >>The cold? >>Water? >>Scrapes from rocks? >>Animal attacks? >>Is their hide strong enough to protect against human weapons? >>>How strong would the weapon have to be to penetrate the dragon’s hide? >Can dragons fly? >>How high? (Remember that air gets thinner and colder at higher altitudes.) >Can dragons swim? >>How long? >>How deep? (Remember that water gets more pressurized and colder at lower depths.) >Can dragons breathe out fire? >>Can they breathe out something else? >>>Does this happen every time they exhale, or do they have to consciously decide to do it? >>>Are there any times when they can’t? >>>>Underwater? >>>>Above certain altitudes? >>>>When they’re tired or malnourished? >>>>When they’re juvenile?

What do dragons eat? >If they can breathe fire, do they cook their food first? >Where are dragons located on the food chain? >>Are they apex predators, or are they derpy little lizard babies that get eaten by bears and condors?

Where do dragons live? >Do they live mostly by themselves, or in family units? >How much space do they take to nest in? >How much territory to they claim as their own outside the nest?

Do dragons hoard things? >What kinds of things? >Do they like shiny things? >>Do they like worthless things too, as long as their shiny, or can they tell the value of an item? >>>Is this dependent on the individual dragon in question? >>>Does it depend on the dragon’s age? >>>The dragon’s subspecies? >Where do dragons keep their hoard? >>Do they keep it in a back room? >>Do they use it as a bed? >>>How do they not damage the items with their weight?

Can dragons use magic? >Can dragons shift into a humanoid form? >>For how long? >>How often? >>What determines what their human form will look like?

How intelligent are dragons? >Do they have their own names? >Do they have rulers? >Do they have a culture of their own? >>How far apart do dragons have to be before there are noticeable regional differences? >Do dragons have a sense of humor? >If dragons aren’t intelligent, can they be/have they been domesticated? >>Can they be trained? >How do dragons communicate? >Are dragons antagonistic towards humanoids? >>Any specifically, or all of them? >>If not, will they allow humanoids or others to ride on their backs? >Are dragons antagonistic toward other dragons? >>Only ones they aren’t related to? >>Only ones from other subspecies? >>Only ones that trespass? >>Only to ones from different regions? >>Only to ones with different politics? >>To ones that smell bad?

Are dragons more reptilian or mammalian? Keep in mind that if they are mammalian, the females will have mammary glands.

How do dragons reproduce? >Are they live births? >Do they hang out in a pouch for a while afterwards, like kangaroos? >Are they up and about almost immediately, like horses? >Are they pretty useless, like human babies? >Do they hatch from eggs?

[let-me-write-for-you-blog]

Have you tried writing dialogues?

You know, the conversations that go on in your head..?

Write them down. 

Create personalities based on those voices.

Give them life through paper and ink.

The Griffin’s Inkpot